and bustle of so many of his contemporaries. In No. 2,
addressed to Cyriack Skinner, he treats of the same topic, only
reverting with pride, as he had done several times in prose, to the
literary labour that had brought on his calamity. In both the
intimation is that he has disciplined himself to live on as
cheerfully as possible, taking daily duties, and little pleasures
too, as they come. What more natural, therefore, than that, some
little while after those two affecting sonnets on his blindness had
been written, there should be two others, in which not a word should
be said of his blindness, but young Lawrence and Cyriack Skinner
should find themselves invited, in a more express manner than usual,
to a day in Milton's company? For that is the proper construction of
the Sonnets. They are cards of invitation to little parties, perhaps
to one and the same little party, in Milton's house in the winter of
1655-6. It is dull, cold, weather; the Parks are wet, and the
country-roads all mire; and for some days Milton has been baulked of
his customary walk out of doors, tended by young Lawrence or Cyriack.
To make amends, there shall be a little dinner in the warm room at
home--"a neat repast" says Milton temptingly, adding "with wine,"
that there may be no doubt in that particular--to be followed by a
long talk and some choice music. So young Lawrence is informed in
the metrical missive to _him_; and the same day (unless, as we
may hope, the little dinner became a periodical institution in
Milton's house), Cyriack is told to come too. Altogether they are
model cards of invitation.[1]

[Footnote 1: More detailed reasons for the dating of Sonnets 1, 3,
and 4 (for Sonnet 2 dates itself) will be found in the Introductions
to those Sonnets in the Cambridge Edition of Milton. In line 12 of
No. 2 I have substituted the word "talks" for the word "rings," now
always printed in that place. "Of which all Europe rings from side to
side," is the reading in the copy of the Sonnet as first printed by
Phillips in 1694 at the end of his memoir of Milton; but that copy
is corrupt in several places. The original dictated draft of the
Sonnet among the Milton MSS. at Cambridge is to be taken as the
true text; and there the word is "talks." Phillips had doubtless
the echo of "rings" in his ear from the Sonnet to Fairfax. The more
sonorous reading, however, has found such general acceptance that an
editor hardly dares to revert to "talks."]

W